


If Molly Was There

by thepetulantpen



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Gen, discussions of the Stormlord and Zuella, posted on my tumblr (same username) ages ago, references to resurrection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-27 02:08:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18294698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepetulantpen/pseuds/thepetulantpen
Summary: Molly and Yasha talk, in the hold of a pirate ship, after her vision of the Stormlord.





	If Molly Was There

“Molly! Molly, wake up. Please.”

Molly opens his eyes blearily to Yasha shaking him awake, looking as urgent as that stoic face ever gets. The boat rocks violently below them, lightning cracks above them and Yasha _flinches_ , which is definitely abnormal. Yasha doesn’t get scared by storms. 

“Yash? What’s going on?” Molly’s nose scrunches up, “and what’s that smell?”

“I got hit by lightning.”

“You what?” He sits up now, squinting in the dim light of his quarters to better see the singed and terrified form of Yasha kneeling beside his bed. "Bed" being a generous term for the shitty plank of wood he's found himself sleeping on for nearly a month at sea. 

“I had this vision and I fought this thing, but nobody else saw it and- oh, Molly I don’t know what’s happening.” Yasha doesn’t cry, Molly doesn’t think he’s ever seen her cry except his first day back, but her voice sounds like it wants her to and her face looks a few seconds from collapse. 

Molly puts his arms around her and she relaxes, letting him do his best to embrace her much larger form. His reach barely wraps around her shoulders, but he tries his best. 

“Shhh, it’ll be ok,” his eyes glow softly in the dark, sparkling with a fool’s optimism, “No god can keep you down, Yasha. _Nothing can keep you down_ , as far as I know.”

“What if-" Yasha bites her lip, not wanting to say more, not wanting to break the silence and the privacy she’s maintained for years. 

Molly just stares back at her, little comforting smile and nothing else on his face. No question, no curiosity, just quiet, firm support. Whatever she needs. 

She feels guilty now, and not for the first time, looking at his face, reading like a picture book as it always has. The vulnerability reminds her of all those nights he'd wake up screaming and those midnight murmurs of things he’d never dare discuss in light of day. All the private flashes of anguished expressions she’ll never be able to forget, not any more than she could forget his smile. He’s been so honest with her, confided in her like he has in no one else. And she’s never returned the favor. Not before he died, not after he came back. 

But he’s still sitting there, smiling and not asking any questions because he thinks that’s what’ll make her happy. 

She takes a breath and scoots into a more comfortable position on Molly’s bed, putting her head on his shoulder, even if it’s a ridiculous balancing act with their heights. Molly takes it gracefully, easily fitting against her and adjusting under the weight of his huge friend. An acrobat at heart, if not in execution. 

“I _can’t_ screw this up with the Stormlord. I just _can’t_.”

“You won’t, Yasha. You can do anything, I’ve seen it.”

“I can’t, Molly, I can’t,” tears run tracks of black ink down her face but she doesn’t wipe them, “I can’t save everyone if I don’t have this.”

Claws scratch her arm as Molly gently squeezes, grounding her and urging her to look up at him. 

“You don’t need a god to save everyone, Yasha. You’ve already saved me, more than you know.”

Molly pushes against her side, making her sit up, and they switch positions, Molly’s head resting on her shoulder now. Or just under it, anyway, with his horns making little, painless indents against her collarbone. 

“Without you, I don’t think I’d be here. I think I would’ve never started fighting, never woken up and started being a new me. I think I might’ve chased life away from the circus and ended up dead in a ditch years sooner. But I didn’t, and now I’m here and now I’m me, Mollymauk Tealeaf of the Mighty Nein. Do you know why?”

Yasha sniffs, staring up at the wood ceiling above them and willing the tears away. “Why?”

“I always wanted you to come back. I thought, if I started talking, maybe you’d have someone to talk to and you’d stay with us. I thought, if I stayed with the circus, you’d always be able to find me. I thought that as long as I had a best friend, I would always have someone to live for, someone to fight for, someone that I could talk to, when the world wasn’t having it. I thought it would all be worth it, even if I didn't do anything grand. Even when it was cut short.”

Yasha looks at Molly’s sharp-toothed grin and she sees, for just a second in the pitch black of the room, Zuella’s smile overlaid, then her sitting just beside him, hand on the shoulder Yasha isn’t touching. She reaches over, wrapping her arm around Molly and resting her hand on Zuella’s. It vanishes, and there’s just Yasha’s hand and Molly’s smile. 

“Molly?”

“Yes, Yasha?” Molly’s eyes, never-ending voids of solid red, stare into Yasha’s mismatched ones, pulling her in.

If she could see Molly’s soul through those depthless eyes she’d say it’d be something like a tombstone decorated in sparkles and clashing colors. A tragedy spinning too fast to see anything but the brightest parts. She’d do anything to protect him and that foolish, happy soul, and she’ll do it with the lightning coursing through veins and the storm in her heart. Supported by muscle, a sword, and some faithful friends.

But first, she thinks she ought to let him in like he’s let her in, allow a peek into her own soul. Gods only know what he’ll see, whether it’ll be ghosts and blood or something unique, some strange Mollymauk perspective on a sad story. She takes a deep breath, centering herself and bringing to mind the happiness and the tragedy she pushes down and out of sight every day. 

“I want to tell you about my wife, Zuella.”

... 

Yasha heaves a breath as she wakes in an unfamiliar place not knowing anything but that she’s under attack. She’s in a bloody field during a thunderstorm- no, a damp, blood entrusted prison cell- _no_ , a grave, a grave on a hill, overlooking the world that _took him away_ \- 

_A rallying, murderous war cry. Demanding retribution, punishment._

_Muffled sobs around foul-smelling gags. The creak of bent metal far, far away._

_The near silent pattering of rain. An echoing, sharp shriek._

Molly snores loudly against her side, horn uncomfortably poking against an old wound. 

Ah. Right. 

Yasha breathes, even and slow. 

Molly is ok. Molly is always ok. She’ll make sure of it. 

She smiles down at her best friend in the whole world, the one she knows everything about and the one who knows everything about her, and falls back asleep, warm and safe.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this back when this episode was streamed and posted it on tumblr, but I've been trying to transfer most of my writing over here now so here's this short snippet. 
> 
> I suppose if I write anything else of the "Mollymauk inserted back into the story" variety I'll tack it onto here, but no promises. Wish I had time to write about Mol and Yash's friendship all day but alas, I have homework.


End file.
